Last Will and Testament
by conversophile
Summary: Title is pretty self-explanitory. The Newsies write their wills. Weirdness/insanity ensues.
1. PROLOG: Kloppman

Prolog: Kloppman  
  
The light coming from the oil lamp on my desk is barley enough to light the room after dark. But, sufficed to say, works well enough for me to make out the large pile of forms on my desk.  
  
I remember the looks of disgust on the boy's faces as I asked them to fill out the forms, the even greater looks of annoyance as they were informed they had to turn them in. Well, it's only a safety precaution. I know how badly these boys get banged up. Who do they think calls the doctors, cleans up their blood that's leaked all over the place, watches them while the others are selling? And I just want to make sure that, just in case one of them doesn't survive a tough winter or a tough fight.we'll know what they want us to do.  
  
"Klopp-man!" Jack complains, putting an arm around Tumblers shoulders as his eyes start filling up with tears, "None of us are going to die. You're scaring the little guys."  
  
But I insisted. And now, I am starring at the Last Wills and Testaments of the Newsboys of Manhattan Island.  
  
I wonder what they say.  
  
My eyes shift between the two doors- one that leads to the corridor and the other that leads outside. No ones coming. It wouldn't hurt to look through a few of the papers, would it?  
  
Hmmm.. 


	2. Racetrack

1. Racetrack  
  
If Kloppmans reading this to all of you, then I'm dead. I wish I weren't, but I am. Tough beans to me. Anyway, the following is a list of what I want done after I die.  
  
First off, I want someone to shut down that crappy little Strip-Joint that's next door to Sheepsheads. The air stinks, the beer is stale, and the girls, they ain't even pretty. But, if you can't get that done.  
  
First, I want to be burned-crematorialized or whatever the word is. Burned. Not buried, burned. I don't want any creepy bugs coming and eating me after I'm dead. That is, in a word, icky.  
  
Anyway, I want to be wearing my best suit, but no tie. I want my bicycle cards in my left pocket and my dice in right-not the other way around.  
  
I want my ashes to be split up by 20ths. A portion for all of the Newsies- do with them as you please, just don't flush my remnants down the loo-a portion for Kloppman, a portion to be given to my Aunt, Amelia Higgins(find her, she was living on the South Side last time I heard) and a portion to be spread somewhere y'all deem appropriate. At the racetrack, on along my selling route, on Pulitzers head, whatever-just somewhere where I won't go to waste.  
  
At my funeral-no eulogies or whatever they called. Tell everyone I liked to gamble, it's sad that I died, then go home. And no tears. If I were watching, I'd find it damn embarrassing to see everyone bawling their eyes out over me. I want y'all to laugh at my funeral, understand? No tears. Go home and cry, but only if you feel you must.  
  
And now, for the part you've all been waiting for-who gets all the junk I left behind. Fun stuff.  
  
~NOTE: If my death was murder/manslaughter, and one of you is responsible, not only shall I come back to haunt you, but you also don't get your inheritance. Comprende? Lovely. ~  
  
Kloppman-There is $7.50 in my pillow. I owe you $3.25 for the million and a half times you let me sleep here without rent, and the rest I want you to use to pay for the other guys if they ever forget their rent. Good deal, no?  
  
Crutchy- Ehem.if I'm dead, there's no harm in letting you have my diaries (in life, you bugged me about them enough.just please.don't burn them if something, uhm, 'upsets' you too badly.Please?). Yeah. Oh, and also, you can have everything in that place where we hid that thing that time {1}, okay?  
  
Jack- Not only am I leaving you my Buffalo Bill Cody pocket-novels, but also the responsibility of keeping the Friday Night Poker/Etc. Racket going. You know the rules. And don't let Spot cheat!! This is vital!!  
  
David-Oh god.What to leave the walking mouth.Jesus, tough question. Uhmm.Take whatever you want that I haven't left to someone else, okay? Okay, moving on.  
  
Snitch-My pocket watch, the buttons on my vest, the can of shoe-shine under my bed, and what ever other shiny items I happen to have on my person-you try to take them often enough, so I might as well leave them to you.Feel free to add them to your ever increasing collection.  
  
Kid Blink-Her name is Marilyn. She works at Irving Hall as a costumer. About 17, tall, curvy, Strawberry curls and gigantic baby-blues. Royal smartass, very funny, and I would call her intelligent except for she's smitten with you. Enjoy.  
  
Mush-Okay. I've gotta ask. Girls are constantly fawning all over you, and yet you never ever seem to clean beyond the basic soap-and-water scrub down. I leave you a brush, comb, nail file, and a pair of long handled scissors. Use them wisely.  
  
Dutchy-You, my frighteningly ditzy friend, get my harmonica. Learn to play it. It ought to add to your over-all aura of weirdness, don'tcha think?  
  
Specs-I found this book behind one of the missions, and I think you might be the only one who will profit by it. I have no clue what it's about-its all in Spanish-but it has some incredibly cool (and very detailed) pictures. Translate and read to anyone who will listen.  
  
Itey-The selling route you and Snitch share, quite frankly, it sucks. I mean, seriously, how many times have the rest of us had to pay your rent? Take my old route.  
  
Skittery-I have known you for a very long time, and I think I know better then anyone how 'glum and dumb' you can get. But I've learned one thing- sugar makes you very happy. Here's a tin of fudge. This more for the others benefit then for yours.  
  
Spot-Never con and Conolon {2}, you said. Well, for years, I have been doing just that. For your eyes alone, I present to you-King Spot Of Brooklyn-the old orange-crate of wonders, filled with various tricks and do- hickeys belonging to the greatest(and now deceased) conman of the Newsboy variety.  
  
Pie-Eater- Did I ever tell you I have credit at Tibbys? From now on, you can buy Race Memorial Pie. How fun will that be, huh?  
  
Swifty-Common sense. Honor. Guts. Speed. Everything you need to take over my numbers racket. Put those legs to good use-run away from all the Bookies you (or, I) cheated! Heh.  
  
Bumblits-First off, I want you to help Specie translate that book I left him. Secondly, I want you to play with the little guys. Little guys like playing stickball. Lucky you have your very own ball and bat, now, ain't it?  
  
Boots-I'm sorry, buddy, but you are in desperate need of a new wardrobe. Take mine. It ought to fit you.And if it doesn't ask Kloppman to alter a few things and you'll be fine.  
  
Les-Remember the freakishly large amount marbles and pennies I've won from you? They're yours again. I suggest you start by playing Skittery-he lost more then you did.  
  
Snipeshooter-You know you want 'em. You've always wanted 'em. And now they are yours. Ask Kloppman to get my Havanas' out of the strong-box for you. Maybe if you have your own you won't feel inclined to steal other peoples!  
  
Other stuff I own that you can decide amongst yourselves on what to do with it:  
~The remaining amount of moolah I've got-you'll find most of it in that biscuit tin under my bed, the one I never let anyone touch.  
  
~The rest of what's in that biscuit tin: pictures, article clippings, letters, my birth certificate (and y'all wondered how an orphan knows his birthday.), a few addresses for interesting people  
  
~My betting stubs. Some wins, some losses, collect them all and do with as you please.  
  
~  
  
In closing, I just want to say.I really love you guys. (I know what you are going to say, Kid, Dutchy-NOT IN THAT WAY!! Wipe those lewd smirks off your faces right now, geeze.) Now that I'm dead, guess its okay for you to know that. And.hopefully, you guys love me. (Kid, Dutchy, I'm warning you.)  
  
Remember to miss me. I'll sure miss you.  
  
Goodbye. Racetrack  
  
~!~!~!~!~ {1} HACKERS rules. Seriously. {2} this is someone else's line. I forget whose. Feel free to claim it in a review.  
  
Whoa.this chapter.It really was awful. Ah well. I'm writing Duchy's right now. It ought to be sooo much better.  
  
To everyone who has already reviewed-I'm very flattered. Sort of.  
  
The Omniscient Bookseller-*gasp* I.I wrote story that shows promise!! YAY!!  
  
Klover- He's not nosey! Well, sorta, I mean.Okay, fine he is nosey! Meh!  
  
Sweet Anne-Here's more. Enjoy. Review. Same thing.  
  
Lady Elwen-I'll remember to change that once I edit it Seraph-And that.  
  
Chicago-I think you are my one faithful reviewer.And I hope this turns out to be cute. I hope. 


	3. Dutchy

2. DUTCHY  
  
This is Dutchy. (Hi). And this is my will. (It says Hi). And I'm dead. (Boo). My will is not dead. (Boo.) But, my will is useful. (Yay.) It will tell you what I want done with myself and all my 'earthy belongings' now that I don't really have any use for them(Yay!)  
  
Okay, first off. I want to go out of this world in style. My kind of 'style' though. Dutchy-style. Meaning I want to go out of this word in a rowboat, wearing nothing but my loafers, a bed sheet, that lime green thong thing I got at Meddahs, and lots and lots of star-fruit. No glasses, though- I want quarters placed over my eyes instead. And I exactly 8 copies of the world underneath me in the rowboat, with a copy of Titus Andronicus on my right side and a copy of the Kama Sutra on my left side, and the biggest package of birth-control pills you can find spread all around me. No, wait, better make it condoms. I never sleep with anyone who needs birth control. If you know what I mean.Of course you do. Y'all live with me.  
  
Oh, yeah, and the whole thing has to be doused in something very very flammable. Petrol? Lighter fluid? Butter? Whiskey? Don't know, don't care, just something that will catch fire easy-as-pie(real pie, not our Pie, our Pie doesn't catch fire easily. I know, I've tried. Muaha.)  
  
Okay, now for my funeral. It shall consist of 3 acts. Act 1: everyone I know shall gather around the rowboat(positioned on the docks) and introduce themselves, then share memories of moi. Hopefully the most bizarre and sexual ones they can think of. Yes, Specs, I want you to tell the tale of The Night of the Carriages with the Guavas and everything. Anyway, moving on.  
  
Act 2: Everyone shall sing Ave Maria and Home On The Range. Then, as you push the boat off the docks and throw a match at it and watch it explode into flames, y'all shall sing Kume Ba Ya.  
  
Act 3: Everyone goes to Tibbys, orders sausages and eggs and toast and banana cream-pie (my favorite), eats to their hearts contentment, then goes off to get completely drink at a show at Irving Hall. After that.Do as you please.  
  
(man. I wish I were alive. My funeral sounds fun!!)  
  
Now, to final farewells and assigning my crap to folks:  
  
Les- my darling protégé, to you I leave the responsibility of being the next Dutchy. I have already taught you most of what I know about being insane and over-sexed. Now is your chance to put it all to good use. Remember-Always be the life of the party. Try something new every day. Try to seduce someone knew every day (even if you have to seduce your brother, I don't care). I'm also leaving you all my caramels. Be happy.  
  
Sexy Specsie-I guess I ought to tell you to get on with your life after I die. But don't. Not for a while, at least.Then do get over me. Find a nice boy, get married, adopted kids, and pine away for me every so often. Thanks. I lovah lovah love you, more then I can say. Especially when you're covered in whip cream.  
  
Kid Blink-You would look really, really, super, super hot in a tattoo. You know what I got at the docks 3 weeks ago? All the way from God-Knows-Where, the remains of a henna kit. Just don't eat it.  
  
Mush- Kid has a fetish for body paste, especially chocolate. If you get to him soon enough, maybe he'll even change his sexual orientation. You lucky piece of curly fluff you.  
  
Jake-I'm leaving you all my pants. Seriously, boy, no one is ever going to look at you again if you spend the rest of your life in those damn suspenders!! Now you can look half-way decent.  
  
Itey-You need a good kiss. Pity Snitch is too shy. Ah well. You also need.hmmm.Aha! My head towel! You know, the one I dry my hair off with? That, and, umm.A kiss. Yeah, I'll get Snitch to kiss you. Don't worry. But take my pillows anyway. You'll need them.  
  
Snitch-You need a rubber chicken. Sadly, I don't have one. I do have a very very big collection of pretty pictures and post-cards and stamps you can have. And can you give Itey a snog for me? Please? Thanks.  
  
Snipeshooter-Snipey, Snipey, Snipey, what am I going to do with you? You're too cute to abuse and too naughty to be left alone.Erk. I hate adorable people like you. How about I leave you my (stolen) slingshot? Ought to make it easier on people to decide whether to smite you or snuggle you.  
  
Crutchy-Sweetie, I don't know what to leave you. Hmm. You think if I amputated my foot, we could sew it to your leg? Nah.Hey. How about I leave you with a date, huh? Pizza? With Race? Sound good? And as compensation(Race, do NOT spit on my grave) you get.Ehem.My vest. Yeah. It's pretty. It ought to look good on skinny-old-you.  
  
Racetrack-Ahh, my little gambling feind-y friend. You get my last cigars and the two bits I owe you. Hang on, why don't I give you another two bits? One set to gamble away mercilessly, and the other to use to buy yourself a good pizza with it. Share it with Crutchy. He likes pizza. And you can't do otherwise and you know it. Disrespecting the dead and all that. Muaha. Have fun.  
  
Skittery-I leave you three things. First, I leave you with a request to spend at least 30 minuets every day with no one but Les. He ought to make you a happier person. Next, I leave you with the request to talk to Meddah about borrowing a blonde wig. It ought to make you a happier person. And lastly, I leave you my hard candy a dandelion collection. They ought to make you a happier person.  
  
Jack- You can have my bright pink shirt. It used to be red. It would look good with that neck thingy you wear. Oh, one last thing. You want to screw either David or Spot. Please. Get on with it.  
  
David-We all know you're smart, Davey. Its just you look a bit.Well.Pathetic? Yeah, that's the word I'm looking for. Pathetic. You can have my glasses. They just have window glass in them anyway. If they make me look smart(which I ain't) they will certainly make you look smart. Oh, one more thing. Jack wants to screw wither you or Spot. Get on with it.  
  
Spot-I'm sorry about that truly yummy boy we met at Irving Hall. But let's face it-short boys never get any from strangers unless they're whores. I leave you my stilts. Go crazy. Oh, one more thing. Jack wants to screw wither you or David. Get on with it.  
  
Pie Eater-Hmmm.what to give you, oh stocky-pastry-friendly one.Hmmmhmmhmhmmm....I can't decide what to leave you. SO I'll leave you everything I haven't assigned to people. Share it.  
  
Exclamations upon Expiration-  
  
Umm. None really. I love ya, I'll miss ya, and everything is gonna be so.So.So mature if I don't have all ya to terrorize. Ah well. I'll survive. And if you're ever in the neighborhood, look me up.  
  
Farewell, dear friends and enemies alike.  
  
Dutchy-kins.  
  
~!~!~!~!  
  
Okay, I really liked this installment. I wonder if this means everyone will hate it. Hmm. Ah well, I don't care. I like it. Dutchy is so fun to write.  
  
Anne-Self-deprecating would be a better term. But thanks.  
  
Gothic Author-*pats* Are you alright? You seemed to have fainted in my review section.At any rate, thank you. Even if you think it's depressing.  
  
Raven-I might, I dunno. Just.be warned. I'm in the process of writing a Spot-Story, and I'm not sure all you Spot-fanatics are going to like it.  
  
Klover-Merci.  
  
Omniscient Bookseller-Glad you like. I plan to update by Monday, if not sooner.  
  
Sung-Hi. My name's Charlie. Nice to meet you. And I'm glad you liked my fic.  
  
CiCi-GAWD! Okay, okay, I will do Spots. Eventually. Maybe as an Epilog or something. Glad you like it so far, though. 


	4. Snitchand Itey, but mainly Snitch!

A/N: I UPDATED! SEE? I AM NOT DEAD! MUAHAH!  
  
To my reviewers-where are you? Well, where-ever you are, if I die, or go mad, please remember I liked you very much!  
  
Anyway, onto Chapter 3, in which Snitch acts like Snitch, and Itey annoys the hell out of him. Enjoy.  
  
SNITCH-  
  
Ummm..Sheesh, I don't know how to start these things.OO, that's a good idea! Thanks Itey!  
  
Hi. This is Snitch.  
  
Now what?...OO, good!  
  
And this is my will I'm writing.  
  
Well, sorta, because it's my will and all, but I'm not writing it. Itey is. He's writing down every word I say. Because I can't. Write, that is. Yeah. So in a sense, this is Snitch AND Itey, but mainly Snitch. 'Cause its not his will, its mine, Right? Right.  
  
Anyway. This is Snitch and this is my will. Lalala.  
  
Hmm? No, gimme another minuet and I'll tell you what to write.If I can think of anything..Lalalala.-No, I will not stop singing! It makes me happy, and thinking of dying makes me sad! I don't like being sad, and I don't want to die! It'll hurt! And I'll cry! I'm probably going to start sobbing right now! And.and.I just.I.  
  
.Thanks Ites. I needed that. Yes, yes, back to subject-what? I said Thanks for the hug, and I needed.Wait.  
  
You're not writing EVERY SINGLE WORD I say down, are you? Are you?!  
  
Alright. As long as you promise you're not. That would be bad.Yes, yes, I'll get on with it.  
  
Okay. If I die-WHICH I WON'T!!!!!- I want to be buried in that cemetery that's on my route(sorry, sorry, OUR route). You know-it's about 8 blocks south of Meddahs. And I know which plot I want too-see, way far at the back of the cemetery, there's this long patch with no graves, and then this hill with this one tiny little cross sticking out of the ground. It's where they buried this girl, Rosie I think, she died when she was maybe 6 from something really nasty. I want to be buried next to her. Because, you know.She's all alone up there, and she's just a little thing.Might be nice for her to have a friend, you know? And I always felt sorry for her, all alone up there, with-OO! Pretty birdie! Itey, look at the-hey! Why'd you hit the window and frighten him off? That wasn't nice! Fine, fine, to my funeral.No, I mean in the writing will thing, I don't want to GO to my funeral! You are so IMPOSSIBLE some times.Meh.  
  
I my funeral to be at that nice church next door to the cemetery, and I want my boxy thing-what? Coffin, yeah, that thing, I want it by the big pretty colored window. Because.Well, they're pretty. And I want the lid of the whatsit-coffin, yes, I want it to be open, because I want people to see me and be able to touch me before they put the whole thing in the ground.It's not a dead body! Its ME! And I like to touch people.Contact is nice. And since I can't touch them, they can touch me.Give me a hug or something before they put me in the ground.No! I don't want Meddah to kiss me! Icky! Shut up and write!  
  
I want it to be a normal funeral, with a priest and people telling stories and singing and all that. I want to be dressed in something clean and nice and my hat and maybe my blanket and some of my stuff. Oh, and there have to be yellow roses on the walls because.Well, I like yellow roses. They smell good.  
  
One other thing.I want someone to plant a plant over my grave. Maybe a watermelon-like in the song!-or a tree.yeah, a tree. And every year, around the time I died, you have to come and water the tree, make sure its doing okay, and talk to me and such. Yeah. I would like that.  
  
Umm.I can't think of anything I really want done after my death. I want someone to soak a Delancy for me.And I want someone to catch that old geezer of 45th who short-changes you no matter what.And I want someone to teach Boots how to pick pockets. So he can be the next me, but not me, just like me, you know? You know. I know you know. Yeah.  
  
Yeah. That's it. Whew, thank god that's over, I don't have to think about my death any-what? All my stuff! No! I don't want to have to.Meh. Fine.  
  
I just 'remembered' about final goodbyes and giving people my stuff. So here goes.I don't want to do this Itey, do I have to do this? Please don't make me.Please.C'mon, Itey, I'm gonna start bawling, don't.Really? You will? Okay, but only if you promise you really will get me the chocolate.Okay, here goes, from my heart:  
  
All my stuff.Umm.divvy it up amongst yourselves. I don't really care. Just be nice to it, 'cause.Well, it's my stuff. Even if I'm dead, I'd prefer it to go to a good home.  
  
Now for the goodbyes.Eeck.Itey, don't make me do this please? Please? I'm remembering the chocolate, but come on.Okay, okay, fine compromise. Group- one sentence goodbyes, good? Good.  
  
Okay.Itey, I hate you.Ehem.Okay. I love you all dearly-YES IN A PLUTONIC WAY, YOU BASTARD! PLATONIC, PLUTONIC, WHATEVER!-, you're my family and I'm going to miss you all something awful. I'm going to miss Snipeshooter waking me up every morning with his bickering with Race over cigars and marbles(win more, okay Snipey?). I'm going to miss Boots and Les trying to finagle me into a game of stickball or marbles or a piece of candy(whenever they ask, do so, okay everyone-who-isn't-one-of-my-little-friends?). I'm going to miss Race trying to teach me to play BS with a Pea knuckle deck, Swifty trying to teach me to run like he can, Dutchy trying to teach me how to be more confidant, Skittery trying to teach me how to drink shots, and Kid trying to teach me how to pick up girls. I'm going to miss Mush telling me stories about his family and Specs reading me stories about other peoples. I'm going to miss Jakes jokes and Soddy's sneezes and Bumlets' games and Pie-Eaters pies. I'm going to miss Jacks dreams and David's words and Spots charismatic.  
  
That's everyone, so-what? OO! You! Right! Aw.Well, you're not that important.Hee! Of course I'm joking, you bum! Stop tickling! I might cry, stop it! Ee! Okay, okay, I'll tell you, I'll tell you.  
  
And I'm going to miss sleeping with Itey when it gets really cold out, because when I'm snuggled up against him, all warm and safe, I know nothing can hurt me because he's there. Because you're all there. I'm going to miss all of you. Everything that makes you you. Everything that makes us us. And I'm kind of sad, because I'm not going to be a part of 'us' any more. But, I know you won't ever forget about me. Because you love me. I hope. And even if you don't, you'll remember me, because I love you with all my heart, and I am never, not matter what, going to forget you, any of you.  
  
Whew, glad that's over with. Wasn't so bad, actually.Oy, what's wrong with- why are you crying, you big baby?...Aw come on, I didn't mean it.Look, I'm sorry-Hey! Hey, you take that back or I'll-Muah! Take that, you-Ow! ITEY! GET BACK HERE!  
  
-END  
  
A/N: Well, that went.well.  
  
Dutchy!muse: Are you kidding? He's the whinny addition of the dumb-blonde collection.  
  
Well.you have a point. I'll write a lot of a fluffy Snitchy romance crap to make up for it.  
  
Dutchy!muse: Better write a lot of it to make up for THIS.  
  
.  
  
Snitch!muse: .Is it bad I liked this chapter.? 


End file.
